


Words Like Rain

by Solanaceae



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bechdel Test Pass, F/F, Femslash, language politics, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-17
Updated: 2014-10-17
Packaged: 2018-02-21 13:40:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2470277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solanaceae/pseuds/Solanaceae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arwen encounters a strange elf at the borders of Lórien.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words Like Rain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Suzelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzelle/gifts).



> Written for Suzelle - whoops, looks like you got a fic from me again! I hope you don't mind too much~ ^^ 
> 
> Requested pairing: Arwen/Nimrodel

Arwen returned to Lothlórien for years at a time, standing at the bank of the river and singing a song taught to her long ago by the one who once dwelt there. It was a place steeped in memory, even by the standards of the Eldar, for whom every inch of Middle-earth resonated with ages of remembrance.

It was by the riverside that she found peace.

It had been by the river that she had met Nimrodel.

She had been a younger girl, then, barely a century into her maturity, wandering the golden wood simply because she _could_ , because the whole wide world was spread out under her young feet and where better to begin than her grandmother's realm?

(Songs of remembrance had been _her_ favorite – always lost in the memory of _what had been_ rather than what could be. Arwen thought she understood that better, all these centuries hence.) 

***

The trees stretched tall above her, silver trunks supporting an arching canopy of gold that Arwen spun beneath, wondering at the play of sunlight through the mallorn leaves, dappling her skin with rich yellow. Her dress, woven by Galadriel's maidens, did not show the mudstains at the hem – a marked improvement from the gauzy white and blue things her mother preferred to give her, which showed every grass-stain and frayed edge. It was her first time in Lórien without her mother or father to keep her company – only her and her grandmother and the forest itself.

She threw herself onto the grass, laughing, and marveled at the way her arms seemed to disappear into the earth, the cloth of her robe blending seamlessly into the ground. It was as though she had become part of the forest itself, rooted just as deeply as the trees.

Her eyes drifted shut, and she tried to quiet her breathing. She had heard tell of how sometimes, in the quietest moments, the trees in Lórien whispered to one another of secrets and long ago pasts. Around her, the leaves scritch-scratched against each other, dried scraps of gold settling against her fingers, catching in her unbound hair.

The wind was soft – gentler than that of Rivendell, somehow. Sounded almost like a song, when she closed her eyes.

She rolled over, eventually, and stretched. Running a hand through her hair to dislodge the leaves caught in it, she considered the tree she had ended up under. There were marks at the base of the silver trunk, as though the bark had been clawed by some small animal.

"I hear you," she whispered, poking the tree root and giggling at her own foolishness. Elbereth, but this place made her as childish as any babe!

A voice came from behind – from _above_ her, edged with contempt. "Nay, I think not."

Arwen jerked upright, scrambling to her feet and searching for the source of the voice. "Who speaks?" she finally ventured, voice small.

"One who knows the song of the forest far better than one such as you." There was a rustle in the leaves above, and an elf dropped from the branches, landing lightly in the soft dirt. Her grey eyes flashed as she regarded Arwen.

"Who are you?" Arwen repeated, backing away. "If – if I have intruded somehow—"

"Intruded." The elf smiled, but there was no mirth in it, only sharp-edged bitterness. She spoke with a strange accent, an inflection to her voice that Arwen was unfamiliar with. "Oh, I do believe you _have_. As your people tend to."

"I did not mean—" What did she mean, _her people_? "That is, I was not aware that I had trespassed on your land."

That had been the wrong thing to say, apparently, because the elf's eyes went even colder. Arwen was suddenly acutely aware of what a mess she must look – leaves caught in her hair, dirt smudged across her skin. Hardly the image of the princess she was supposed to be, and under this elf's scrutiny, she felt even more out of place.

"Do _not_ return." The elf stepped back into the shadows, and when Arwen blinked, she was gone.

***

"Who lives by the river?" she asked Galadriel at dinner that night. The two of them had taken their food to a secluded _talan_ , and Arwen had her feet dangling over the edge, reveling in the way the night breeze tickled her bare soles. When her grandmother did not respond immediately, Arwen swung her legs back onto the talan and stared up at her, expectant. 

Galadriel smiled. "You went exploring today."

"Tis one of the many joys of this new independence my parents have granted me, now that I am grown."

Her grandmother inclined her head, seeming to weigh her remark as she might any courtier's words. It was nice, Arwen reflected, being treated as an adult – as an elf who had reached maturity, at least, which she _had_ – especially by the Lady of the Golden Wood. 

"Did you meet someone?" Galadriel asked, and listened as Arwen told of the strange elf she had encountered, the hostile way she had spoken. She was silent for a time after Arwen finished.

Just when Arwen was about to ask her if she knew who the stranger was, Galadriel laughed softly.

"I had thought her gone long ago," she confessed, folding her hands before her. "Though I suppose I ought to have known better, all things considered."

"So you know who she is?"

Galadriel's eyes drifted upwards, to where the first of the stars glimmered between the mallorn leaves. "She is – she was here long before we came crossed the mountains and settled here. Some say she is of the oldest Silvan folk, born even before the rising of the Moon. She – resents the newcomers, resents our presence here and refuses to speak our language, but deems us so far below her that she refuses to do aught but retreat closer and closer to the river at the border."

She glanced at Arwen. "I would not antagonize her, were I you."

Arwen wondered if her grandmother caught the flash of reluctance that crossed her face, because Galadriel raised an eyebrow. Hurriedly, she asked, "What name does she go by?"

"Her name is Nimrodel."

***

Desipte her grandmother's warning, Arwen returned to the far reaches of the forest not two days later. She found a river and crouched by the edge of the water, swirling her fingers through the chilly ripples that lapped at the stones. She hummed under her breath, trying to match the pitch of the falling water.

It did not take long for the elf to return.

"I thought I told you to keep away."

Arwen did not turn around or start, though she had not heard the stranger approach – not even Galadriel was so silent on the forest floor. "Are you Nimrodel?"

The elf scoffed under her breath. Arwen caught a glimpse of bare feet out of the corner of her eye as she moved closer. "You spoke of me to someone."

"My grandmother says you do not speak our language, and yet—" Now she turned her head, but stayed on her knees in the mud. Nimrodel was not looking at her, gaze fixed on the water. "Yet here I can understand you perfectly well."

Nimrodel's eyes narrowed. "I dirty my mouth with your language simply to get you gone."

"What does _your_ language sound like, then?"

She got a flat stare in response, then a fluid, lilting sentence that sounded half song, half speech. Nimrodel's voice was musical, like the sound of the waterfall, and Arwen remembered her comment at their first meeting – the song of the forest, indeed.

"And what does that mean?" she asked when Nimrodel had finished. Nimrodel considered her, then laughed sharply.

"That you are a pock-marked infant who does not know when to stop bothering her elders."

Arwen swallowed back her first instinct to snap that she was past her maturity, _thank you very much_. She forced a smile, deliberately needling Nimrodel. "It sounded very lovely for an insult."

Nimrodel spat something under her breath and turned away. "Mocking me gains you nothing, child."

"I am no child." Arwen stood, wiping her damp hands on her skirt. "And I believe you were the first to mock me, so you have no right to be insulted when I return the favor."

"You would speak of rights?" There was tension in Nimrodel's shoulders, the hand at her side curling and uncurling as Arwen watched. "You, who are no different from the rest of the newcomers, _intruders_ , you would claim any dominion over _me_?"

Arwen hesitated, wondering if Nimrodel was going to react thus to _anything_ she said. "I – misspoke," she finally said, spreading her hands in what she hoped would come across as conciliation. "Of course I do not claim anything. You are – from long before, are you not?"

"What, do you wish for a tale, now?" Nimrodel's voice dripped scorn. "I think not. I have dallied long enough with your foolishness today."

Arwen could not resist, though it seemed she had done enough damage already. "So – tomorrow, then?"

"I _doubt_ it." There was a flash of grey-green as Nimrodel retreated into the woods, almost faster than Arwen could follow. 

***

A peace offering seemed in order – Arwen was still not entirely sure how she had managed to offend Nimrodel, but an apology seemed in order nonetheless. Besides, it cost her nothing, and perhaps she could pry a tale from the strange elf.

So she returned, once again, bearing a leaf-wrapped packet, and found Nimrodel first this time, sitting in the shade of a tree.

"I brought lembas. Do you want some?"

Nimrodel glanced sharply at her and opened her mouth as though about to say something. Arwen held out the leaf-wrapped bundle with a smile, and Nimrodel turned away.

"Not speaking to me, are you?" Arwen sat down and crossed her legs. "Is it a wish to keep your mouth from being, ah – _dirtied by my language_ , is that what you said?"

"You are _impossible_ ," Nimrodel scowled. "What do I have to do to keep you from hounding me thus?"

"I have been informed that I am fairly stubborn," Arwen said dryly. "Do you want the food or no?"

She was only a little surprised when Nimrodel reached out abruptly to pluck the lembas from her hands.

"Your food is utterly without merit, save these," she mused, nimbly unwinding the cord that bound the leaves shut. "They are – sweet."

"Do you like sweets, then?" Arwen pressed, eager though she knew not why. "I can – I have some skill in baking, and my mother taught me how to make honey cakes—"

Nimrodel broke the lembas in half and nibbled on a corner, eyes drifting shut as she chewed. Arwen trailed off, watching the irritation fade from her face. She looked nearly – nearly _peaceful_ , and it was unexpected enough to give Arwen pause.

"What is the purpose of this?" Nimrodel demanded, eyes flicking open, and Arwen started and tried to look as though she had not been staring.

"Purpose? I only—"

"If you think to convince me to tell you of myself with such a petty bribe, then you will be sorely disappointed."

"I—" Well, yes, that had been exactly what she had wanted, but evidently that strategy was not going to succeed. "Perhaps I only wanted to make amends for offending you the last time we spoke."

"Seeing as your mere presence offends me, it will take a little more than a piece of _bread_ to appease me." Still, she took another bite, eyes darting away from Arwen as she did so.

"Well, if you will not tell me tales of your past, would you mind terribly if I spoke to you of myself?" she ventured. There was a long pause, then Nimrodel glanced at her.

"I _suppose_ ," she said stiffly, "that there would be nothing I could do to stop you."

Arwen smiled brightly. "Well, then. I shall tell you of Rivendell, and the river there. It is wilder than this one, and far colder, for it runs down from the northern mountains..."

***

"What are you doing?"

Arwen looked up from the baking pan she had been leaning over, feeling strangely like a child caught in a wrongdoing. Galadriel stood in the doorway to the kitchens, hands folded in her wide sleeves.

"Baking, grandmother," she replied with her sweetest smile, straightening and setting the pan on a nearby shelf. She took off the thick mitts and prodded one of the honey cakes, testing it for firmness.

Galadriel joined her, casting a glance over the cakes. "Your mother's recipe, I believe?" When Arwen nodded, she looked uncharacteristically nostalgic. "Celebrían has quite the knack for cooking – though I seem to remember several disastrous failures while she was first venturing into that field."

Arwen laughed, trying to imagine her mother – always so perfectly put together, always so _confident_ – undergoing anything even remotely resembling failure.

"Why the sudden industry?" Galadriel asked, and Arwen schooled her features into cheerful innocence.

"I felt the need for something familiar."

It was hardly as though she wanted to tell her grandmother that these were for the strange elf in the woods – the very same one that Galadriel had warned her against seeing. The same one she had hounded repeatedly until she capitulated out of sheer annoyance, it seemed. Or that she was going to such lengths because something about Nimrodel was more captivating than anything she had found in this realm yet.

She knew Nimrodel saw her as nothing more than an annoyance, and yet she could not help but return.

Nimrodel liked sweet things, and that was the only thing of substance Arwen knew about her. And she wasn't sure why she cared, but she knew that this – gesture, whatever it was, was _something_.

(A beginning, at least.)

***

The next time she came, Nimrodel did not immediately snap at her – progress, in Arwen's opinion. She said nothing as Arwen clambered up onto the tree branch she was sitting on, only watching as she attempted to find a stable spot. She also accepted the cakes without comment, though her eyes did widen with appreciation when she took the first bite. Arwen felt an odd flush of pleasure at that – the knowledge that Nimrodel appreciated the gesture.

"Does it please you?" Arwen asked, and Nimrodel looked away again – as good as an affirmative. "Tis my mother's recipe. It was my favorite childhood sweet."

She reached out and snagged one herself, balancing it in the center of her palm. The branch swayed under her weight, and she grabbed for a more stable hold with her other hand.

"I have never learned to bake," Nimrodel said abruptly.

Arwen looked up.

"It was – there is no need, in the forest," she continued, looking down and away, brow furrowed. "Not when I am alone. Sometimes, a wandering elf joins me, and I offer sanctuary to those of my people, but – I have not left the forest in a long time, and the companions always leave."

Arwen nodded carefully, watching Nimrodel's hands clench and unclench. It was like watching a half-wild animal hesitate on the verge of fleeing, feeling as though if she said the wrong thing, Nimrodel would be gone.

"I do not _need_ companionship." Now she looked up at Arwen, who wondered which of them she was trying to convince. "I do _not._ And your babble has irritated me from the start, but this morning I found myself waiting for you to come—"

"You were?" The words burst from Arwen before she could clamp her lips shut, and she blushed. "It is only that – that I look forward to our meetings, even though you did not seem to."

Nimrodel frowned.

"I – it is nice to speak to someone who does not treat me as though I am made of glass," Arwen blurted out. "Someone who does not _care_ about my rank. You're terribly rude, but it's nice to hear the truth, for once—"

"Oh, _please_ ," Nimrodel scowled, looking suddenly angry. "Do not tell me you care for me as anything but a way to pass the time. Come winter, you will forget that you even met me."

Arwen reached out before she could think better of it and took Nimrodel's hand. She felt Nimrodel stiffen, but she did not pull away – not yet.

"You are not the sort that is easily forgotten," she said softly.

For a moment, something flashed across Nimrodel's face that Arwen couldn't quite read, raw emotion like the flash of sunlight on running water. Her mouth opened as though to say something, and then she tore her hand away from Arwen's and fled.

***

It took some searching to find Nimrodel again, but find her she did. A good sign, since Arwen was fairly sure that she would not be able to find even a trace of her if she did not want to be found.

"Did I offend you again?" she asked, shading her eyes as she peered up at the tree Nimrodel was perched in. Nimrodel looked away, eyes narrowing.

Arwen sighed.

"I was telling the truth yesterday. I _like_ speaking with you. May I come up?"

A pause, and then Nimrodel nodded curtly.

Arwen grasped the branch and pulled herself up, swinging one leg over. "I thought we had reached a point where we could talk to each other without resorting to complete silence," she admitted. "Was I wrong?"

Nimrodel still seemed to be refusing to look at her.

"If it's because you dislike my language, I could learn – that is, if you were willing to teach me, we could converse in yours." It was the only thing she could think to offer. She reached out and tentatively brushed her fingers against Nimrodel's hand.

Nimrodel leaned forward and kissed her.

Arwen froze, hand clenching reflexively around the branch of the tree. Nimrodel's mouth was warm, and Arwen parted her lips at the shock of it, then felt Nimrodel's tongue teasing between them. Startled, she nipped at Nimrodel's bottom lip, and felt rather than heard the soft noise the movement produced.

Her head was spinning, suddenly, and she did not think it was the abrupt lack of air.

She pulled away, fairly sure that her face was bright red. "What was _that_?"

"Oh, come now." There was a faint flush high on Nimrodel's cheeks, but her voice was steady. "Surely you are not so inexperienced as that." Her hand found Arwen's on the branch, fingers closing around her wrist with surprising force. 

"I just – I've never—" Heat prickled across her face again.

"I thought it a suitable way to get you to stop making a fool of yourself. Did you mind?" Nimrodel's eyes twinkled with amusement, her fingers shifting to rub against Arwen's wrist, a delicate touch against the skin there. Arwen swallowed.

"I – yes. I mean _no_ , I did not mind. It was nice."

"I believe I can do better than _nice_." Nimrodel swung her legs over the branch and leapt nimbly to the forest floor, shooting a glance up at Arwen. "Do you wish to see more of my home, then? Hear my stories?"

Arwen nodded slowly, baffled by the sudden turn of events. "This is – unexpected. Unexpected but welcome."

"Well." Nimrodel's smile widened into something closer to a smirk. "You are a _fool_ , but perhaps not an insufferable one. I maintain the right to pass judgement on that."

***

There was a shadowed overhang just beside the river, where the trunk of a tall willow dipped into the water, forming a small cavern walled with soft, dark dirt and wound through with pale roots. Arwen curled up and watched the golden, wavering light cast by the sunlight on the river, reflected in the intertwined roots that arched above them.

Nimrodel's face came into view above her, gold hair falling over her shoulders, brushing Arwen's arm. She pressed her lips to Arwen's neck, tracing a line up to where her heartbeat thudded in the hollow beneath her jaw, then fastened her mouth there. Arwen felt the tug all through her body, and flushed at the way she arched up into Nimrodel's touch.

"You wish for this," Nimrodel whispered, sounding nearly surprised as she pulled away. There was a fire in her eyes, the grey there sharpened to bright steel.

Arwen responded by tangling her hands in Nimrodel's hair and yanking her down. Her lips were damp with river water, tasted like earth and sunlight.

"I cannot stay forever," she whispered. "You know that, don't you?"

Nimrodel hummed a noise of acknowledgment, fingers wandering across her shoulders. "I am used to making the most of the time I have, Arwen."

***

Afterwards, Nimrodel lay beside her, fingers dancing over Arwen's bare hip, smearing river mud in fantastical designs across her pale skin. She sang under her breath, twining together melodies that Arwen slowly realized were all part of the same song.

She did not know the words, though some resonated with familiarity. Still, she closed her eyes and listened, hearing the rush of water and wind in Nimrodel's voice. It put her in mind of wild freedom, of dancing under stars undimmed by the light of the moon.

"Thank you," she whispered when Nimrodel finished, the last notes fading into silence.

Nimrodel did not say anything, but her hand crept into Arwen's and tightened around her fingers.


End file.
